Girls Like Us(17)

“Happy to.” I sit beside her and lean in, joining the two ends of the clasp around her fine, blue-veined wrist.

When I finish, she runs a finger across it. “It must have fallen off when I was wrestling with Jasper this morning,” she says quietly. “I was looking for it everywhere. I was worried it went down the sink. The chain is getting old. It was a gift from my mother, just before she died. I’ve never taken it off. I’m so grateful to have it back.”

“It must’ve been very upsetting for you. This morning, I mean.”

Her face clouds over. “It was awful. Jasper’s a hunting dog. Or at least, I think he is. He was a rescue. He reminds me of the coonhounds we had back in Texas. Long legs, great nose. Up to no good if you don’t train them right.”

“You grew up in Texas?”

“I did. On an old ranch south of San Antonio. My daddy was an oilman. Loved to hunt. I shot trap from the time I was six. Now I shoot at the Mattituck Gun Club. Do you know it?”

“I know it well,” I say, surprised. You don’t see a lot of Bentleys parked in the Mattituck Gun Club’s lot. Mostly it’s SUVs or pickups, like my father’s. It’s a locals’ spot, frequented by cops and firemen and farmers. “I learned to shoot there.”

“How old were you?”

“Young. Six or seven, maybe.”

Grace nods approvingly. “My daddy always said a girl had to know how to protect herself in this world.”

“Smart man.”

“Between us, I like it a lot more than any of the stuffy country clubs we belong to.”

“Do you take Jasper hunting?”

“Oh heavens, no. I don’t believe in shooting birds or deer. It’s cruel to kill a helpless thing. Just clay pigeons. I like to birdwatch, too. There’s some terrific birdwatching out here on Long Island, especially when the migration starts. What did you ask me? Oh, Jasper. Right. I’m sorry. I’m scattered today. I do think someone taught him to retrieve. He’s always darting off, getting into things. He’ll come back with dead birds—once he even brought back a dead turtle! God, that smell was just awful, you can’t imagine. He left it on the doorstep, proud as can be. It’s his way of saying thank you, I think. He was just a pile of bones when I took him in. In the off-season, I let him off the leash on the beach. He likes the exercise. When I saw him digging, I just thought . . .” She lets out a deep, shuddering breath. “I shouldn’t have let him up there. I know you’re not supposed to. I mean, for God’s sake, I’m on the board of the Preservation Society. I helped them put up the damn fence!”

“If you hadn’t let him up there, we might never have found that girl’s body.”

She shakes her head. “Only an animal would do something like that. I hope you find him.”

“We will.”

“Do you work for the police department?”

“I’m with the FBI. I’m consulting on this case.”

Grace’s face relaxes. “Oh, good. I’m glad they brought you in. Please don’t repeat this, but I don’t have much faith in the police out here.”

“What makes you say that?”

“There was a similar case last summer. Young girl. Shot clean between the eyes with a .22 and then cut up. Her body was wrapped in burlap, just like this one.”

“The Pine Barrens case.”

“Yes. I think some hikers found her. Can you imagine? What a surprise that must have been, all the way out in the middle of nowhere. I’ll tell you, this morning gave me the fright of my life. At least I was close to home. Ran all the way back, dragging Jasper most of the way.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“They never did solve that case. I’m not sure they bothered to try.”

I’m tempted to interject. To defend my father in some way or perhaps, at least, assure her that someone cared. I bite my tongue and nod politely. “Did you follow it?”

“I did a bit. The girl was left on a tract of land that the Preservation Society was restoring after a forest fire. An officer came to talk to me about Alfonso Morales. He’s a landscaper who works for the Preservation Society. I told the officer he had the wrong man. Alfonso is a decent person. Humble. Hardworking. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“You know Mr. Morales personally?”

“Well enough. I hired him. He works for me here on occasion.” She gestures at the lawn and gardens beyond the edge of the porch.

“The Preservation Society was involved in the dune restoration out in Shinnecock County Park, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. I spent a year raising money for that project and then another year convincing the Town of Southampton to let us do it. You’d be surprised how much pushback you can get from local government, even when you’re doing something that benefits the whole community.” She sighs and leans back against the sofa cushions, like the idea of the project still exhausts her.

“What does dune restoration entail?”

“Well, it’s more complex than it sounds. Sand dunes are fragile ecosystems. They provide habitats to highly specialized fauna and flora. The vegetation that grows there has adapted to a rather brutal way of life. Changing temperatures. A moving substrate.” She stops herself, blushing. “I’m sorry. This is terribly technical, isn’t it?”